


The Time Traveler's Husband

by lovetheblazer



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren is unstuck in time. At any second, he could be lifted out of his present life and into another place and time. He's never much cared for the life of a time traveler. That all changed the day he dropped into the meadow and met a 9 year old boy named Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time Traveler's Husband

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the Meadow](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/34629) by abritincanadatwo. 



> A/N: Written for CrissColfer AU Wednesday (Theme: Time Travel)  
> Based on the insanely good book, The Time Traveler’s Wife 
> 
> Word Count: 3,564 words
> 
> TW: Mentions of bullying and brief homophobia

Darren knows it coming, like a freight train he can't escape. One minute he's there, solid. But then there's a loud humming sound. It vibrates around him and through him until he just _vanishes._ Gone. Lifted out of his life and into another. He never knows when. He never knows where. He still doesn't know how.

* * *

_In the meadow. Chris is 9, Darren is 21_

Darren awakes with the mother of all hangovers. The last thing he remembers is ordering a third scotch at a local bar, so the hangover's to be expected, he supposes. He tries to breathe, begging the pounding in his head to quiet so he can go back to sleep.

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice intrudes. Which is strange because Darren doesn't remember leaving the bar with anyone. He opens his eyes to bright sunlight and vibrant hues of greens and blues, none brighter than crystal blue eyes of a young boy staring down at him.

“Good morning,” Darren greets him, trying for casual.

“You're naked,” the boy observes. Not questioning, not judging, just observing.

“I seem to be, yes,” Darren chuckles. “And where exactly are we right now?”

“The meadow,” the boy replies, tilting his head to the side and peering at Darren strangely.

“City? State?” Darren prompts.

“Clovis...California.”

“Wonderful,” Darren groans, knowing he's several bus rides away from his bed in San Francisco. Not that it matters. Darren doubts he'll be here long. “And the year?” 

The boy wrinkles his nose, looking perplexed. “The year?”

“Yeah, you know, like today's date,” Darren replies casually.

“It's May 26, 1999,” the boy replies slowly. “Where are you from anyway?”

“San Francisco.”

“How'd you get here?”

“Bus.”

“To the meadow? The bus stop's miles away,” the boy replies incredulously. “Are you an alien?”

“No.”

“Why aren't you wearing pants?”

“Left them on the bus,” Darren grumbles, growing weary of the Spanish Inquisition.

“How did y -”

“Okay okay, kid,” Darren interjects. “I've got a splitting headache and I really don't need the interrogation from an 8 year old. My turn. What's your name?”

“Chris,” the boys answers hesitantly. And then he adds, “And I'm nine. Almost ten. I'm _not_ eight.

“Okay fair enough,” Darren grins, despite himself. “Nice to meet you, Chris. I'm Darren. Got any spare pants lying around?” A loud grumble from his stomach convinces him to add, “Or something to eat?”

“Umm, I've got an extra sandwich? And a blanket.” Chris offers.

“Excellent. Lead the way.”

Chris slowly winds his way through the tall grass, Darren trailing behind, until at last they reach a clearing, laid out with the makings of a picnic for one. Chris retrieves a picnic blanket from the ground, handing it Darren shyly and turning his head while Darren wraps the red and blue striped blanket around his waist. “What's in the basket? I'm starving,” he remarks eagerly.

“I've got a peanut butter and honey sandwich or a ham and swiss one,” Chris explains, digging through basket. “And some pink lemonade.”

“Peanut butter and honey, huh?” Darren asks, surprised. “I thought I was the only one who liked that particular combo.”

“It's delicious,” Chris replies instantly.

“I agree,” Darren says, grinning widely. “Mind if I take it off your hands?”

Chris wrinkles his nose, considering. “I guess I can share,” he decides at last, handing over the sandwich.

Darren's just taking his first bite when it starts. The slow steady thrumming of voltage under his skin that tells him he's leaving. He feels the tug in the pit of his stomach and knows he hasn't got long.

“I'm afraid I won't be able to stay for dinner,” Darren says quickly. “But trust me when I say you're gonna want to watch thi -”

Before he can finish the word, he's disappearing. The last thing he sees are wide, bright blue eyes and a pink mouth shaped around a fading gasp.

* * *

_In Darren's apartment. Darren is 21_.

Darren awakes to a churning nausea. At first, it's so intense that he has to wait until the wave abates before he dares draw a breath. He pauses, focusing on the stillness of the room around him, praying that he's home. When the world seems to right itself, he cracks open one eye, groaning in relief as the first thing he sees is the faded grey carpet of his studio apartment. He closes his eyes again, listening to the beat of his heart and coaching himself to breathe with it. _In. Out. In. Out._ With each breath he feels stronger and more solid.

Finally, when he's sure he can chance moving without vomiting all over the rug, he raises up on one elbow, glancing at the digital clock he has on the kitchen counter. 3 AM. More relevant, at least in his experience, is the date. May 30th. _Fuck._ Darren's been missing in action for nearly four days now. He sighs heavily, knowing that he's likely lost his job at the bar sometime in the past few days by not turning up to work. His head still aches and a creeping loneliness he can't explain sweeps over him. He staggers to his feet, stumbles the 50 steps to his bed, and collapses into it, pulling the duvet tightly around his naked, shivering body.

* * *

_In Chris' car. Chris is 17_.

“Joseph was checking you out big time tonight,” Ashley exclaims. “You should totally hit that.”

“Eh, not my type,” Chris replies apathetically.

“I _knew_ you were going to say that. Are you finally ready to fill me on the big secret?” Ashley prods.

“Secret? What secret?” Chris asks, panic welling up. But Ashley couldn't possibly know _that._

“Your mystery guy,” Ashley replies, as if the answer is obvious. “I'm not stupid, Chris. I know you. And you're in love with _someone_.”

“I'm not -” Chris begins, but one pointed look from Ashley is enough to silence him. To be honest, it's been killing him to keep everything quiet. He can't give her the full rundown of course, but he wants, or really _needs_ , to talk to someone about Darren.

“Okay fine, can you keep a secret?” Chris blurts out.

“You know I can. Better than anyone. So spill. I want details. Do I know him?” Ashley presses.

“No, he's – you don't know him,” Chris answers warily. 

“Well then, when am I going to meet him?” Ashley asks. 

“I – I don't know...” Chris begins, knowing that according to the journal, Darren doesn't return to the meadow for several months. “It's complicated,” he sighs.

“What's wrong with him?” Ashley asks, sounding concerned now.

“Nothing – it's not that I don't _want_ you to meet him, but he's...older. And he lives a few hours away.”

“How much older?” Ashley wants to know, sounding leery.

Chris inwardly chuckles, because he's still not entirely sure. Last they met, Darren was 38 and looked so weary it made Chris want to cry. He's hiding something from Chris, that much is sure. Darren claims he can't give Chris future information because it could change things about their timeline. But Darren's already broken that rule twice, first to reassure Chris that he would come back. And then later, he took it one step further, handing him a journal with the dates of all his visits to the meadow. Chris is trying not to think about that right now, because he only has a single visit left. And then he knows he won't be able to see Darren for a very long time 

But Chris knows they are together in some future life. He knows it to his very bones. Darren has a thin white line on his ring finger, the unmistakeable tan line from a wedding ring. And for reasons Chris can't quite put into words, he's certain that the 38 year old Darren he saw last week is married to him. The future him.

“Uh, at least a few years?” Chris tries for casual and nonspecific 

“He's not like 40, right?”

“No!” Chris rushes to reassure. He's not lying. Not really. Last he'd seen Darren, he'd been 38, not 40. And so many ages in between throughout the years.

“Where's he from?”

“San Francisco.”

“How'd you meet?”

“Online,” Chris answers quickly. Which is lie, but a necessary one. Because really, how do you begin to explain a complete stranger seemingly dropping from the sky, completely naked? How do you tell your best friend that you've fallen in love with someone who comes and goes in an instant?

“What's his name? Is he cute?” Ashley practically squeals.

“Darren and yes – the cutest.”

* * *

_In the meadow. Chris is 13, Darren is 32._  

Darren hisses as he appears in the meadow, somehow having managed to drop directly onto a rock. He looks down at his elbow, cursing as he sees that he's bleeding. He hopes Chris will have a bandaid. He tends to be over-prepared that way. On his second visit, he asked Chris to grab a shirt and pair of pants from his dad so that Darren would have clothing to wear during his increasingly frequent visits. But to Darren's shock, Chris brought him five full ensembles, insisting that it was important that Darren had _options_. And with each successive visit to the meadow, Chris brings him more and more food. Darren need only mention in passing that he likes something, and it's there. He's rarely eaten this well in life, having grown accustomed to years of subsisting on ramen noodles and pop-tarts.

Darren climbs to his feet, shivering in late autumn chill. He walks to the apple tree where there's a basket hidden from view, tucked between two tree limbs. He selects a pair of jeans and flannel button down shirt from the basket, dressing quickly, wondering why Chris still hasn't come to greet him. He rounds the small orchard, heading towards the clearing, his heart dropping at the scene that awaits him. Chris is sitting on the blanket, knees curled up to his chest, crying hard. As Darren gets closer, he can see a blooming bruise on Chris' cheek and he's suddenly filled with incoherent rage. He forces down the ire, not wanting to scare Chris, needing to make sure he's okay before he makes whatever idiot or idiots hurt Chris regret ever being born.

Darren kneels next to Chris, feeling his stomach swoop as Chris flinches away on instinct. He holds up his hands, as he would if he were approaching a wounded animal. “Hey shh, it's just me,” he soothes. The need to touch, to be sure that Chris is alright, is palpable, but he forces himself to wait until Chris meets his gaze. “Darren,” he whimpers, and Darren reaches for him, taking Chris' face in his hands. He slides two fingers under Chris' chin, slowly tilting his face up so he can better examine the bruise in the pale afternoon sunlight. He slides his fingertips over the welling lump, infinitely gentle, but Chris still hisses the second his fingers make contact.

There are so many questions swirling in Darren's head that he scarcely knows where to begin. Chris is silent aside from unsteady hitching breaths, tears still falling, dampening Darren's hand. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks, terrified of the answer he'll receive. 

“No,” Chris sniffles, trying to turn his head away.

“Hey shh, don't do that,” Darren whispers. “Look at me. What _happened_?”

“I – I don't – want to talk about it,” Chris manages, crying harder.

“Chris,” Darren sighs, hating how helpless he feels. “Maybe later?”

Chris shrugs, chewing on the inside of cheek, swiping at his running nose with his sleeve.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, knowing that it must.

Chris nods, his mouth twisting to the side as he tries to stifle a sob.

“Sweetheart,” Darren breathes. Not knowing what else to do, Darren sits beside Chris, opening his arms. “Come here,” he requests, relieved when Chris collapses into them, crying harder still, his tears dampening the flannel shirt Darren's wearing. Darren settles his cheek against Chris' hair, rubbing his back and waiting for Chris' breathing to slowly even out.

“You have anything cold in the picnic basket?” he asks. He feels Chris nod against his chest and leans forward, reaching out a hand and snagging a can of Diet Coke and several napkins, wrapping them around the ice cold aluminum. He carefully presses the side of the can against Chris' bruised cheek, wincing as Chris moans.

“I know, I know it hurts,” he apologizes, “but it'll help with the swelling, okay?”

Chris sniffles, but doesn't say anything, letting Darren hold the can against his cheek. “So who did this?” Darren can't stop himself from asking. “Kids at school?” After a pause, Chris hums a quiet affirmation. He knows Chris has been having some trouble with bullying. But he'd thought, perhaps naively, that it had been confined to snide remarks. Either things have escalated or Chris is hiding things from Darren. Both possibilities hurt. 

“Will you at least tell me their names so I can make them regret every laying a finger on you?” Darren blurts out.

He feels Chris stiffen and begins cursing his big mouth, knowing he's pushed too far. But then Chris is lifting his head, peering up at Darren through watery eyes. “You'd do that?” 

“Are you kidding me? In a heartbeat. People shouldn't be hurting you, Chris,” Darren speaks with absolute conviction.

“You'd beat someone up for me?” Chris whispers, his eyes wide, not with fear, but with gratitude.

“For you? I'd beat up a whole army,” Darren says, his voice low.

Chris' eyes widen and he giggles, his face lighting up. But then he's inhaling sharply, clutching at his cheek as the laughter jostles the still tender flesh. “You okay?” Darren asks, pulling the can away.

“Yeah, just _sore_ ,” Chris grumbles. 

“I'll bet,” Darren tuts sympathetically. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Chris admits. “I packed a really good picnic today too.” Chris reaches over and begins to unpack the containers, a vast spread of delicious looking treats slowly laid out for Darren's choosing.

“You spoil me,” Darren groans after he's eaten his fill. “Seriously, it's a small miracle that I don't weigh 500 pounds.” Chris chuckles as Darren lays down on his side on the blanket, rubbing his stomach lazily.

“How do you stay so slim?” Darren asks. “This food is decadent.”

“I only eat like this when you're here,” Chris explains. “I figure you have enough to deal with, especially with the...you know.” Darren nods. “The least I can do is feed you a decent meal.”

“Decent? No, that was practically gourmet. I'm impressed,” Darren compliments.

“Thanks,” Chris murmurs shyly.

“Ooh, what are you reading now?” Darren inquires, seeing the corner of Chris' book poking out of the picnic basket.

“The Great Gatsby,” Chris says, grabbing it excitedly. “It's for school, but it's _amazing_. Have you read it?”

“Have I read it?” Darren scoffs. “Only seventeen times. Christopher Colfer, it's like you don't know me at all,” he teases.

“Isn't it so good?” Chris beams. “The other kids at school keep complaining about having to read it, but they're crazy.”

“It's the best – I'm totally with you.” Darren agrees. 

Chris and Darren spend the next half hour talking about the book, trading their favorite lines and favorite parts. So when Darren feels the familiar vibration, he's almost sad to see the night end. It feels like such a gift to get to make Chris smile, to make him laugh after the utter hell he must have been put through earlier.

The humming sound begins, and his stomach lurches. Darren has just enough time to remind Chris to put some ice on his cheek when he goes inside before he vanishes. 

* * *

_In their house. Chris is 28, Darren is 32._

Chris startles awake as Darren lands on the bedroom floor with a muted thud.

“Darren?” he calls sleepily. “You okay down there?” 

“Yeah,” Darren groans. “Just a bit of a rough landing.”

“Sounds like it,” Chris chuckles. “Come back to bed? It's cold without you in it.”

Darren crawls to his feet, sliding beneath the duvet and pressing up against Chris.

Chris gasps, “Jesus Darren, you're _freezing_. Where were you this time – Antarctica?”

“God, that would _suck._ And no, I was in the meadow. But it was nighttime and October, so...” 

“The meadow?” Chris asks excitedly, sounding a bit more awake. He rolls over, facing Darren and wrapping his arms around his upper body, trying to rub some of the warmth back into him. “How old was I this time?” 

“Thirteen, I think. You were crying when I got there,” Darren whispers, sliding his hand up to cup Chris' cheek where the bruise had been.

“Oh,” Chris sighs, remembering. “That was a rough day, until you showed up.”

“What happened anyways?” Darren asks. “You never would tell me the details, just that it'd been some kids at school.”

“They followed me home after school, calling me names...” Chris begins.

“What kind of names?”

“Homo...and worse. I'm sure you can imagine,” Chris murmurs, rolling his eyes. 

Darren's eyes go dark. “God, why didn't you tell me?”

“I think you threatened to murder people for me. Which was nice, but I was at least a little worried you might actually do it,” Chris explains.

“They hit you?” Darren practically growls.

“Threw rocks. One caught me in the cheek,” Chris mumbles.

“Yeah, I definitely would have killed them.” Darren's quiet for moment, his heart aching for the 13 year old boy walking home alone to ice his cheek. “God Chris, I'm so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Chris whispers. “Besides it was forever ago, at least for me.”

“Was that the end of it? With the kids, I mean? Or did they do more?”

“A few things, nothing quite that bad. And then my mom got wind of it, and decided to homeschool, and that was the end of that,” Chris smiles at Darren. “It's okay, honey. I'm _fine_. It was a long time ago.”

Darren doesn't say anything, because there's still an ache in his chest he can't will away. Instead he threads his fingers through Chris' hair, pulling him close for a long, desperate kiss. He fists the back of Chris' undershirt, pressing them together until there's not an inch of Darren that isn't covering Chris. He traces the line of Chris' jaw with his mouth, nipping gently at the underside before trailing hot kisses down his neck. 

Chris whimpers, extending his neck and letting Darren take more, groaning at delicious friction of the rough stubble against his sensitive skin. They trade kisses until they are both panting and moaning, exhausted and more than a little drunk on each other. Darren presses his forehead to Chris' temple as they both try to catch their breath. “Feeling better?” Chris teases.

“Much,” Darren groans. “Let's both skip work tomorrow and stay in bed all day, okay?”

Chris chuckles. “That sounds lovely, but we've got a mortgage to pay, mister. We should probably get some sleep. The sun will be up soon.”

“But – but sex?” Darren tries, pouting.

“Nice try. Sleep now and maybe I'll let you shower with me when our alarms go off,” Chris offers with a wry grin.

“Fine,” Darren huffs exasperatedly. 

“Oh please, you'll live. I know for a fact you are getting _plenty_ of sex.”

“But there's always room for improvement,” Darren chuckles. 

“I guess that's true,” Chris grins sleepily. “Oh before I forget, I put your wedding ring back by the sink. It hit me in the face when you left, I'll have you know.” 

Darren laughs long and hard at that. “Oops? Although it's not my fault I can't take anything with me. Do you know how many times I've landed facedown in the snow completely naked?”

“Umm, probably a few?” Chris giggles. “Not fun at all, I'm willing to bet.”

“Let's just say you _really_ don't want frostbite...there,” Darren hints.

“God, thank you for that visual, Darren. But can we go to sleep now?”

“Yes please,” Darren whispers, kissing Chris on the bridge of his nose.

“Love you,” they both say in unison.

Chris laughs again. “Man, we're so obnoxious.”

“Obnoxiously in love, yes,” Darren murmurs.

“Of course,” Chris yawns. “Love you – always have...”

And just like every night, as Darren's eyes flutter closed, he finishes “...always will.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of transferring most of my fics over to AO3. In the meantime, if you're interested in reading more of my writing, you can find them on Tumblr at: lovetheblazer.tumblr.com/tagged/all-my-fics


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